Remember, Doctor
by Borrowed and Blue
Summary: A newly regenerated Doctor finds himself back on Earth. This time he is taken to the Chicago World Fair in 1893. Will he be able to stop the mysterious murders of countless young women, or will he fail to take down the perpetrator? With the help of Lilly (OC), still doubtful of the Doctor, he will have the adventure of his life (which, given his age is a hard thing to do). Read pls
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so hi! I'm kinda new here, so be nice and please ****review****. I know this first chapter is short, but bear with me. (By the way, as I don't curse, I will be using "stars" as a stand-in.)**

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I stagger through my blue doors, sad knowing that it would be the last time my eyes would see my beautiful blue box again, at least not with these eyes. Pity, I had quite liked my eyes this time. They were a deep blue, accented by my graying brown hair. I laugh at myself. I'm dying, and these are my last thoughts? Ridiculous.

I groan. I won't last much longer.

As I limp through the TARDIS, I run my hand over the console one last time. I press a few buttons to navigate, but I mostly just let the TARDIS choose. She likes it when I acknowledge that she's the one in charge of where we go. I moan and grit my teeth. Looking down at my hands, I can already see faint golden wisps of light flowing from them. I start to cry, though I try not to. I don't want to be sad. I saved Earth once again, so this life had not been a waste. Outside, everyone is celebrating, finally breathing after days of fear. Still, I can't stop a few golden tears from burning down my face. In my defense, regrowing every cell in my body is excruciating. Watch me in my final breaths, trying to explain myself to whom, myself? I can be so sil-

"Arhh!" I scream. I can't stop the tears now. They burn away my skin cells which regrow milliseconds after they are destroyed. I usually am stronger than this. I usually can hold it in, but this time is different, this time I have nobody, nobody in the universe. The last time that had happened was seven regenerations ago. Back then I said, "I'm fine," way to much. I was one of those people, suffering in the darkness of their hearts.

"Not this time," I tell myself. "Whoever comes next, don't mess it up. Whatever comes next, don't blame yourself. You have a tendency of punishing yourself when you feel guilty, but you don't deserve that." I step into the TARDIS, I run my hand across the control console one last time.

I hunch over in pain, groaning. It hurts so much. "Stars." It was hard trying to give oneself a speech while one was dying. "Just remember that you need to travel with someone. Remember not to push others away."

I throw my head back and scream in agony. Before my vocal cords are disintegrated and regrown, I tell myself one last thing, "Remember." My face bursts into light along with the rest of my body and I finally let go.

After what seems like hours of the agonizing pain of regenerating (it was probably just seconds, but _stars_ that hurts), I finally open my brand new eyes to see the changed interior of my TARDIS. I smile and take in a breath of that new-timelord smell, seeing the TARDIS always cheers me up. I sigh and get to work, I need to check out my new body. Running up the stairs to where I left the costume room last, I do a one-over in the cheval mirror there. Stars. My last self had an _awful _sense of fashion. I'm wearing a leather jacket over a neon orange button-up and a light-up now tie around my neck. To complete the ridiculous look, hot pink converse adorn my feet. I sigh. I really need to get myself together. After the shock of my outfit (neon orange should be illegal), I move on to my new self. From where I stand, I think I look pretty good. I have darker skin, but I don't think I'm African like I was last time. I have wavy black hair that runs down to my jawline in the front (still not ginger) and stunning green eyes. I'm not a total mess this time at least, though my ears are a bit conspicuous and my eyebrows are particularly aggressive. Something is off, though. Something I can't quite place... Hmmm. I squint in the mirror trying to figure it out.

"Stars! I'm a teenager!"

Yes, there it is. I can see it now. After 39000 years of time travel, I have been reduced to the hormone-ridden state of adolescence. I wonder if this is cosmic pay back for all those times I acted immature in one way or another. It's all Eleven's fault. If he had straightened up, I wouldn't look like one of the least respected creatures in all the universe. Okay. Okay. I can deal with this. At least I don't have acne. Oh my stars, what if I get acne? Calm down. I've saved universes and I'm worrying about acne? What is wrong with me? I must have a partly teenage consciousness too, otherwise I wouldn't be so vain.

I can't fix this, so might as well fix this outfit. I shed the offensive clothes and start searching for a new outfit. I can't decide, so eventually I just settle for a bright green sweatshirt and grey jeans. Finally, I'm ready to go out. I slide down the new spiral staircase to the TARDIS control room and walk out her beautiful doors.

"Hope you picked something good this time," I called back to the TARDIS, remembering the one time where she took me to a spa planet for some relaxation. Most boring week ever. No monsters, no enemies, no long corridors to run down. There weren't even diverse species considering it was a human settlement.

Taking in my new surroundings, I wonder of she took me out for another "relaxing" trip. I'm in what looked like a large, old-timey town. I pick up a small rock and lick it, drawing stares from the inhabitants of this place. Just my luck. More humans. Having finished my taste analysis of the soil here, I decide I'm somewhere in America at around... May 28th 1893. Eww. If the TARDIS had to take me to Earth, did she really have to take me here? Oh well. Might as well make due. The TARDIS will get touchy if I don't stay for at least an hour. I'm sure something here will catch my attention.

I stand on the street corner for another five seconds before I get bored and start looking for trouble instead of waiting for it to find me. Luckily, it doesn't take long. I spot three blondes closing in on another girl holding a laundry basket. The way they move is almost predatorial. They push the other girl to the ground, making her drop her laundry basket, and I realize what is going on. They're bullying that poor girl. Well, I can stop them. I hate bullies, at least I did last time. Not as interesting as Slitheen, but why not help her out? If I'm lucky, It'll take at least fifteen minutes to sort everything out. Even if it doesn't, helping others is what a Doctor does, right? I'm not quite sure anymore...

I start to walk over to the girl, but I am too late and someone had already gotten there in the short time it took me to decide what to do. I hurry faster as I feel that whoever got there will take the side of the pretty blondes over the African American laundry girl. By the time I get there, I realize in shock that the person who beat me there had not only taken the side of the laundry lady, but had already driven off the attackers and was helping the other girl off the ground. Wow she's fast.

I walk up to the girl and introduce myself. "Hello," I say with a voice crack. Being a teenager is the worst. "I saw what happened. Is everything okay?"

The girl helps the laundry one to her feet and looks me up and down with silvery eyes, cocking an eyebrow. After an incredulous look she says, "No, sir, everything is all right", in a thickly american accent, then turns back to the laundress, picking up a pair of beat-up spectacles and handing them back to her. She then starts piling the fallen clothes into her friend's basket.

Her laundriness looks up at me through her newly restored glasses and gives me a tight-lipped smile before saying, "Thank you for asking, sir, but I'm fine." Her voice is higher than the first girl's and much more timid.

"Good, good. I'm the Doctor," I say. "And you are?" I tried to smile comfortingly.

The laundry girl looks at her friend uncomfortably and she just shrugs. What did that mean? "I am M-M-Marietta, sir," she stutters. "Are you enjoying the fair?"

"What fair?" I ask stupidly.

The other girl finishes her task and stands, laundry basket pressed between one of her hands and her hip. "The one you're in, sir." I could practically hear the idiot that belongs in the place of the 'sir.' "The Chicago World Fair?"

"Oooh," I say. "_That _fair. Yeah. I totally knew that. Are _you _enjoying the fair?"

The brunette glares at me while Marietta stares down at her shoes and says, "I, um, work here, sir."

I blush. How could I be so stupid? I should have been able to tell this. After all, she did have a laundry basket. I hope I hadn't embarrassed the poor girl.

"Well, thank you for your concern, 'Doctah,'" the glaring friend huffs, making fun of my accent, "but we must get going. A pleasure meeting you." She smiles snidely and hurries away, her unburdened arm wrapped around Marietta.

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**Sorry for the lack of action in this chapter. I promise it gets better as time goes on. Hang in there and please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for getting even this far. So this chapter will be changing perspectives a bit, so I'll put the person above the section. Oh, and by the way, I don't own Doctor Who, duh. No more declaimers other than I might not be able to update often. Sorry. Now on to the story.**

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Lilly

I walk away, huffing. Of course they hadn't liked my designs. They never do. I work as a costume designer (one of the only female ones in the fair) for Snavely's, one of the smaller art tents in the World Fair, and the director hates me. I just think he's sexist. He'll come to his senses soon enough. Or not soon. It may take him until he sees everyone else's designs and realizes that they all suck compared to me. Whatever. It's his loss. Or maybe I'm just self absorbed. Who cares. I'm still upset and I don't really want to humble myself right now.

Lost in my stewing, I realize I have no actual idea where I'm going. I can't go home, it's too far away and I'll never get there and back in time to make it to the parade fitting for Lawrence. I can't go early to the fitting either. Lawrence hates it when I do that. Says I need to get a life. What he doesn't realize is that this _is_ my life. My designs, that's all I know and love to do. It's me.

Eventually, I decide on heading over to visit with Marietta. By now, she should be done collecting work from Madam Pamtey's and quickly walking towards Snavely's, the very tent I was in front of. Marietta is a laundress and a seamstress. There were a lot of those kind of jobs here for young families. It was especially hard on Marietta, her being the single mother of her adorable little daughter, Hope. As she had to carry Hope with her on jobs since Marietta' husband, Jacob, died in his job as a fire man for the fair. The situation is completely unfair, but so was life. I try to help take care of Hope as often as I can, but I'm really busy most of the time. Luckily, today another friend of Marietta's was free to watch the adorable little girl, so I could have some time to talk to Marietta on my own.

Lost in my thoughts, I had already made it halfway to Madam Pamtey's with no sight of my friend. I start to worry. It's hard enough to get work as a laundress without being late, so Marietta made sure that she was always on time and always looked her very best so her patrons would be more likely to recommend her to others. If she were late, it could cost her her livelihood.

I hurry (which is particularly hard on these awful fashionable shoes, but so are the sacrifices of a designer, you always have to look better than you want). If something is keeping Marrietta from her work, it's serious.

Eventually, I stop hardly twenty feet from The Madam's and see the scene in front of me. A few steps away, a gaggle of blonds leer over their newfound prey, plucking piece by piece of clothing out of poor Marietta's basket and dropping it to the dusty floor along with Marietta herself as they pushed her down. A couple more feet away, stands an attractive man in odd clothing looking like he wants to involve himself in the mess, though in who's favor, I couldn't say. Before he can help the group of pretty blonds, I rush in to the situation.

"Hey," I yell, getting the girls' attention. "Get away from her!"

The three blondies give me a one over and dismiss me, deeming me unworthy of their attention. Upon closer inspection, they look almost comedically looked the three bears from Goldilocks. The tallest with little curves and the plainest dress (I decide to call her Papa Bear in my head) steps towards Marietta threateningly.

"Hey," I repeat. I grab hold of Papa Bear's upper arm and force her to face me. "What's the problem here?"

The curviest, shortest, fanciest girl (Mama Bear) looks at me like a cockroach that just scuttled across her new kid skin boots. "We're not the problem here," she says in a pretty southern drawl. She must not be from around here. None of them must. "It's little miss Africa here with the predicament. You see, she stumbled and got dust on my brand new boots."

She looks at me expectantly like she actually expects me to agree that that's a good reason to torment anyone, much less my friend. (I knew those shoes were new and I pat myself on the back for a moment before I get to the problem.) What in tarnation does this lady think I am? A skinny, good for nothing, two-bit, giant-headed, turncoat harlot like her. No way.

"Now you listen here, Miss High and Mighty. I don't know how you do things down in your neck of the woods, but here we treat humans like humans and there ain't no other way. Now, this fine young lady works for several of the best fashion tents in the fair," that was a lie, Snavely's is pretty low on the charts, but they don't need to know that, "so if you and your friends don't want to be kicked out of the high fashion society, I suggest showing more class than picking on someone for the color of their skin."

When I finish with my little speech, neither of the bears look very ready to back down, but Baby Bear of middling hight, build, and decor, tugs on Mama Bear's sleeve worriedly and said, "Come on Beatrice, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We don't need to cause any trouble. Besides, there's that teat vendor you like. Let's go."

Reluctantly, they leave, each giving us a look as they walk away. While Mama and Papa Bear's stares are vengeful and intrusive, Baby gives us a glance that almost seems like an apology. Maybe not all the blondies are awful, but that's a question for another time.

I hear a hello from behind me and swivel around. Oh great. There's the guy I saw on the sidelines before this whole mess. I know the drill. He'll either act like the hero of the story or ask why we chased away the pretty girls. I really don't need this right now.

I help Marietta to her feet and give the man (more a boy, he's really young, maybe almost younger than I am, and I'm hardly nineteen) a trite "No, sir, everything is all right," before returning to the fallen clothing. What was up with his ensamble? He wears an odd loose shirt with a hood and a pocket in the front in the most atrocious green I have ever seen. Below that, he has pants of a material I have never seen before. It was blue, but it looked rough, the individual threads almost visible. Of course, no one else would notice this, but I pride myself on my ability to see fabric.

I return to my task and feel a long, hard object in the folds of a particularly frumpy dress. Another wave of rage hits me, and I want to go give the blondies another piece of my mind and possibly my fist but I quell it and gently place the glasses on Marrietta's face.

I hear Marietta stammer out a, "Thank you for asking, sir, but I'm fine," in a voice a note higher than usual, a sure sign that she's uncomfortable in this situation.

"Good, good. I'm the Doctor," the strange man says. "And you are?" It hits me. This man is British. It's not uncommon for other nationalities to show up. After all, it is a _W__orld_ Fair. But I'm still suprised at the revalation.

I look up momentarily and see Marietta give me a look that says, "What do I have do l to do to get this guy to leave?"

I understand her worry. She's surely late for her pick up with Snavely's. I guess it's my turn to rescue her. Again. She really is a formidable girl, but she relies on me entirely too much.

Finally, Marietta timidly answers, "I am M-M-Marietta, sir. Are you enjoying the fair?"

"What fair?" he asks stupidly.

I finish gathering the laundry and stand up, holding the basket between my hand and my hip. I give him a "I'm done with you" look (I might have learned a thing or two from the blondies) and answer his question. "The one you're in, _sir_," I really want to say idiot instead of sir. "The Chicago World Fair?"

"Oooh," he says, "_That _fair. Yeah. I totally knew that. Are _you _enjoying the fair?'

Yeah right. You sure did. And how dare he ask Marietta that! Is he really so stupid as to not notice that she works here. No. No one's that stupid. He must be so mean spirited to rub it in her face that she couldn't possibly be a visitor here. I give him a hard stare while poor Marietta stares down at her playing brown boots.

Marietta tentatively answers, "I, um, work here, sir."

He man at least has the decency to blush. Did he really not know that? Maybe things are different in England. Maybe it's a land where no one cares about such trivial things as skin color. I wish. Unfortunately, no one can see past Marietta's dark skin to see the kindest heart and a durability to stand the death of her husband and the determination to make a home out of nothing. I wish.

"Well, thank you for your concern, 'Doctah,'" I huff, intentionally making fun of his accent, "but we must get going. A pleasure meeting you." I smile snidely and hurry away, wrapping my empty arm around Marietta's shoulders. We have a job to catch.


End file.
